


Pressure Plate + Family

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [6]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, James MacGyver Bashing (MacGyver TV 2016), Not quite an anxiety attack but also not not an anxiety attack, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Poor Mac just really needs a hug, Sandbox fic, Suspense, Tension, Whoa that's right bois another character this time, catch me still hating on james :D, for a very very very short time but still she's there, i think that's how double negatives work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Mac's barely begun to understand his Overwatch. Jack's just barely begun to understand his bomb nerd. And of course, everything has to go downhill a second later.Or, the infamous pressure plate scene, except it's slightly different than canon!
Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157210
Comments: 25
Kudos: 40





	Pressure Plate + Family

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Wow it's only been like two days lol. I actually wrote this all today? And I didn't realize it got this long?? Sorry???? I'm a mess of an author lmao. Anyway, I had so so much fun writing this one, and I really hope that you all enjoy it! As mentioned in the summary, this is different from the canon scene for a few reasons, and that's just because I felt like making it more dramatic, and consequently more found family-y.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Mac’s been uncharacteristically quiet.

Actually, Jack realizes that the statement isn’t completely correct. It’s like he’s regressed back into the kid that Jack first met, sixty six days ago. The new, or old, depending on how one looks at it, attitude is probably from the fact that Jack reenlisted. 

Probably.

Most definitely.

Really though, it’s not like he had a choice. There’s no way that Jack was going to leave the hamburger kid with some other overwatch, who doesn’t quite get how the gears in the kid’s brain work. And Jack’s certainly not going to abandon him when there’s sketchy reports being sent out to a stranger.

At least, he thinks that they’re being sent out to a stranger. He doesn’t actually know, and neither does Wright. Now it’s just up to Sarah Adler, whom Jack now owes an infinite amount of favors for. It’s worth it though. Even the smallest bits of extra information is worth it.

Despite the fact that Sarah’s leading the investigation on the Hartman mystery, she won’t tell Jack anything about it. Bullshit about clearance, even though they both know Jack can keep one hell of a secret when needed.

With the reports still being sent out fresh from the source, Jack didn’t hesitate to go straight to Martinez and confirm reenlistment. He knows the letter to his mama is going to be painful, but it’s worth it for the burger kid.

Except now the kid barely talks to him. More often than not, Mac’s back is always facing Jack in the truck, eyes down at his fingers or that red knife of his. No matter how many stories he tells, or how many words he butchers, nothing seems to get the kid riled up.

To his surprise, Mac ends up getting himself out of his self proclaimed hole, speaking up on a way to a routine IED. “I heard you talking to Martinez. About the investigation.”

“What is it with you and eavesdropping, kid?”

Mac just scoffs. “It’d practically be harder to not eavesdrop. You all make it too easy.”

“Don’t pin that on me.”

“Who do you think Hartman is?” Mac questions after a beat. “And who’s Adler?”

Shaking his head, Jack answers, “Whoever Hartman is, isn’t our problem anymore. And where’d you hear about Adler?”

“I thought we’d already established that I was eavesdropping. Who is she to you?”

Glancing over at the kid, Jack sighs at him. “A friend.”

All he gets is a hum in response. 

“You wanna say anything, Mac?”

With far too much teenage angst than Jack thinks is necessary, Mac half heartedly replies, “You said you were Deltas.”

“I am. And?”

“You never said that you worked for the CIA.”

Shrugging, Jack counters, “It never came up.”

“You talk about everything, Jack. Literally everything. The only reason that the CIA didn’t come up was because you specifically avoided it.”

“Where’s this coming from, Mac?”

Ignoring the question, Mac asks one of his own. “Why didn’t you tell me about the CIA?”

“Why haven’t you told me anything about you?”

“I have no obligation to do so!”

“Well, there you go,” Jack bites out, partially regretting the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. Jack knows, he  _ knows  _ that there’s an ugly reason for why Mac doesn’t talk about his childhood. The same reason Riley never talked about Elwood.

God, Jack wants to punch something. Someone.

Mac lets out a long winded exhale, flipping out tools on his knife. “Why’d you reenlist, Jack?”

“Is that what this is about?” 

“What  _ what  _ is about?”

“This,” Jack waves a free hand in front of the wheel, “Teenage mood you got goin’ on.”

“I’m not a-” Mac huffs, halfway to a growl. “God Jack, why are you so goddamn insistent on calling me a kid?”

For the past few weeks, Jack had almost managed to push the fact that his bomb nerd was a kid. A child in a warzone. But now the realization is hitting him again, full force. “Mac, what the hell is going on with you?”

Snapping the scissors back with enough force to cause him to flinch, Mac bites back, “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing!”

“Then why’d you reenlist?”

“What, you’d rather have another overwatch?”

Deflating, Mac points out, “You had the chance to go back home, Jack. Home. Texas, which you never stop talking about- but then you didn’t take it!”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been a civvy, Mac. I wasn’t ready for that again.”

It’s obvious that Mac doesn’t believe a single word he says, but he doesn’t argue about it. Instead, Mac just keeps his eyes on him for a few seconds, before turning back to his fingers.

The rest of the ride is spent tense, even more so than when they started, which is certainly saying something. The only thing to keep the two of them company is the noise the dirt and rocks cause underneath the tires.

The silence is lifted when Mac steps out of the truck, biting the insides of his cheeks. “Which building?”

Keeping both hands on his rifle, Jack points with his chin to the rather unassuming looking building. Two stories, plus a bit of construction work on the flat roof. Stepping in front of the kid, Jack declares, “I’m clearin’ it first. Stay behind me, you hear?”

Mac doesn’t reply, so much as mumble a confirmation from behind. 

Once Jack’s swept the building, he motions for Mac to join him.

“Did you see anything?”

“Nothin’ obvious,” Jack replies, looking out the windows at every opportunity. “We don’t know that there’s anything here for certain.”

Scrunching his nose, Mac shakes his head. “There’s something here. I can just tell.”

“Spidey sense?”

“Something like that,” Mac mutters.

As Mac slinks along the edges of the walls, eyes catching on every pile of trash and debris, Jack keeps his eyes trained out towards the walls and windows.

Not even a full minute passes until Jack hears trucks zooming down to the area. He isn’t surprised when shouting and gunfire blankets the air next. 

Immediately pulling his hand away from a crack in the wall, Mac looks to Jack for instruction. He can feel his heart beat heavier in his chest, but Mac pushes that down. It’s never a good idea to panic when a bomb is around, and even less so when there are now hostiles in the area.

Jack’s heart, on the other hand, has never been steadier. He’s spent the better half of his adult years in the middle of firefights, and he’s ready to continue spending his remaining years doing so. “We need to get higher,” Jack announces, taking his hand off the rifle for a second to pull Mac back from the windows. “I need a nest.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Jack barely looks back to make sure that the kid is following him. After reaching the second story, the half opened window is nearly singing to Jack. It’s the perfect place to keep an eye out, putting lead in heads when necessary.

He takes a step forward, glancing back to ensure Mac is safe, when he hears the noise that plagues his nightmares.

_ Click. _

*

All of the air in Mac’s body leaves in a fraction of a second. By the time he gets any words out, it’s still ninety percent breathy air. “Don’t move.”

Jack contains a shudder, even when his eyes betray him. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it, Hoss.”

“Don’t even  _ shift  _ your weight,” Mac hisses, already dropping into a crouch, fingers ghosting over the sides of the pressure plate without touching anything. “You understand? You  _ can’t move, _ Jack.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, kid,” Jack replies, doing his best to twist in order to see out of the window. “I know how this shit works. And I also know that if you don’t get out now, we’re both dead.”

“Jack,” Mac looks up, eyes wide. “No.”

“Kid, listen to me, you either get out now, or the hostiles are gonna find you. We don’t have time to debate this.”

Mac turns away from his face, doing his best to put all of his brain power toward this bomb. “I’m not leaving.”

“Only one of us has to go back in a box, kid.”

“I’m. Not. Leaving.”

Jack turns as much as he can whilst still ensuring that he and Mac will stay safe. Growling, he reiterates, “Mac, I told you, we don’t have time to argue. You need to leave. If you don’t leave right now, you’re gonna be surrounded.” Jack shakes his head, losing eye contact as he quietly continues, “I can’t let that happen.”

Without making any move to find his eyes again, Mac replies, “You didn’t reenlist just to die two days afterward.”

“Shit happens, Mac. But it doesn’t have to happen to you.  _ Leave, _ Angus.” 

“You don’t get to call me that,” Mac snaps back, “Not if you’re telling me to leave you to die. I’m going to disarm it.”

“Yeah? And what happens after? Then we both get some lead between our eyes and die anyway. Leave, Mac!”

A second later, gunfire and screams echo around.

With a face far too smug for the situation, Mac peers up. “Looks like I lost my window to leave, huh?”

“Dammit, Mac! This isn’t a fucking joke!”

“You’re right. So why the hell are you trying to die?”

“I’m trying to save you, there’s a difference!”

“Is there?” Before Jack can reply, Mac flinches from a particularly loud pop of gunfire.

Unlike Mac, Jack’s breathing still is steady and even, having already made peace with his death. It’s something that Jack’s intimately familiar with. Death is always around the corner. It’s nothing but bad luck that it happened to be this short after reenlisting.

Mac isn’t looking at the bomb. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking at. None of the light around him is actually filtering into his eyes, no signals are being sent to and from his optic nerve. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t see anything. It’s all… blank.

“Mac?” If at all possible, it feels like Jack’s rifle has just gained a few pounds. “Hey, Mac? You hearin’ me?” Despite the fact that Mac responds by shaking his head, Jack’s happy to have at least gotten a response out of him. “Mac?”

Quietly, just barely loud enough to be considered a whisper, Mac questions, “Why did you reenlist, Jack?”

After a second, Jack settles on, “I get all of my bomb nerds home. If I left a couple of days ago, I wouldn’t know if you made it home.”

Mac sits back on his heels, a luxury that Jack can’t afford. “And now you’re going to die.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. “It’s always a possibility. Hell, I’ve been on borrowed time since Milan.”

“What happened in Milan?”

“You were askin’ about Adler earlier. Sarah Adler. Milan was the first mission we went on together that went wrong.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Mac asks, “How? What went wrong?”

With a sad snort, Jack questions back, “What didn’t go wrong?”

Mac gives him a sad smile, until the next round of gunfire goes off, and he flinches. Tech’s shouldn’t be flinching, it’s how bombs go off, it’s how people get killed. At the moment though, Mac doesn’t think his flinches will make any difference. “Do you think they know we’re here?”

“Not in this specific building.” Jack knows that lying won’t get them anywhere. Now’s the wrong time for ignorance. “But the damn truck’s down there, and it screams American. They know we’re around here.”

“And they won’t leave until we’re dead.”

“They don’t know how many people there are, though,” Jack points out. “I can distract them, you can still make it outta here. I’ll tell ‘em I’m the only one.”

Rather than say anything, Mac just sighs. They both know that this is a death sentence for both of them. Unable to see the bomb from that angle, Mac stands up from the floor, before treading towards the windows.

“Get down, Mac!” Jack hisses, wishes that he could pull the kid back. “If they see you, you’re gonna get yourself shot!”

“I wanted to see how close they were,” Mac mutters, but still takes a step back, until he’s face to face with his overwatch. “I can’t see the bomb from here. The plate’s blocking it, and I can’t mess with that.”

Jack knew that was coming. “I know, kid. It’s okay.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know you’re gonna die.”

Cursing under his breath, Jack takes a second to formulate his thoughts. He wonders how this poor kid can still think positively in this situation. “Mac-”

“I can get to it from the bottom. Downstairs.”

“You’re not goin’ down there.”

Mac gives his overwatch an incredulous look. “Yeah? How the hell are you going to stop me? I’m going down there, Jack.”

Shaking his head, Jack counters, “You’ll get shot, Mac!”

“We’re gonna die anyway!” Mac throws up his hands, before moving to run them through his hair, only to be greeted by his helmet. He then turns on his heels to go back down the stairs. “I’ll avoid the windows. But you’re not stopping me from going down there.”

“I swear to God, Mac,”

“I’m going to get you out of this,” He declares, before leaving Jack on the second story.

The second he gets out of sight from Jack, Mac nearly collapses. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad. Worse than when he broke his dad’s project when he was eleven.

Jack’s death is going to be on him. Jack should be home in Texas right now. With his sisters and mom, at the ranch that he can’t stop talking about. Instead, Jack’s going to go back to Texas in a box with the US flag laid on top, and it’s his fault.

With an incredibly unsteady breath, Mac forces himself to pull it together. Padding quietly through the downstairs area, Mac keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, until he reaches the point directly under Jack.

Now that he’s looking at it, it’s obvious. He should’ve seen it before. If he had, then maybe Jack would-

No.

It’s fine.

He’s going to get Jack out of this. He’s going to survive.

He has to.

Mud, drywall, and wood all cover the ceiling under the pressure plate, and Mac knows that they’re holding up the explosives. The explosives that are going to kill Jack if he doesn’t do anything. Willing his hands to not shake, Mac shines his flashlight over the support.

He knows it’s not a timer, otherwise they’d already be dead. It’s the most common type of pressure trigger. The bomb is triggered when the plate decompresses, but the bomb won’t detonate until the plate lifts again.

As quietly as he can, Mac cuts away the drywall and mud, before his knife begins to hit metal. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he can feel each thump in his carotid. Gunfire continues, but less screams follow.

By the time Mac’s cleared away all the mud, he’s seconds away from collapsing again. “No,” He murmurs, feeling his already thready heart drop out of his chest. 

When Mac walks up the stairs, he can’t think. Everything has turned to mush. The world has turned into mush, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

“Mac?”

Slowly looking up, Mac reports, “The um- the backing of the IED is soldered in. Metal. I can’t get at it from downstairs either.” By the end of the sentence, Mac’s words are quieter than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Jack shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.”

“You should be back in Texas.”

“I’m right where I need to be, kid.”

Mac flicks out the blade on his knife, running the dull side along his fingers, tracing the bones in his hand. Without looking up, Mac admits, “I didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

After a bout of gunfire subsides, Jack questions, “You didn’t think what’d feel like this?”

“We’re going to die. We’re literally sitting on a live bomb, and we’re surrounded by terrorists. I just thought it’d feel different.”

Part of Jack wants to scream. No kid should be feeling this. Hell, no human should be feeling this, but the fact that Mac’s only twenty makes things a thousand times worse. He should be somewhere in college, drinking beer underage. Kissing girls or boys or whoever the fuck he wanted. Not waiting for his life to inevitably end in a desert, away from everyone he loves.

“I don’t want Bozer to have to hear it.”

“Mac-”

“He’s the one that’s going to be told I was KIA. Killed in action.” Blankly, Mac continues, “He’s going to be the ones to tell his parents. I don’t want him to.”

“You’re not dying here.”

Slowly moving his neck, Mac finds Jack’s eyes. “Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

“I’ve gotten all of my bomb nerds home, and you’re not gonna be the exception, you hear me? You’re smarter than anybody I’ve ever met before, you know that? And I’ve seen the scientists in the CIA. I’ve been in a room with a collective seventeen PhDs, and none of them were as smart as you. I know you can find a way out,” Jack continues, letting the never ending adrenaline fuel his cause. “You’re gonna find a way outta here, Mac. I know you are.”

“I can’t!” Mac shakes his head, cursing himself when tears fall. He feels like such a child right now, and he hates it. If his dad were here, Mac knows that James would be yelling at him. James was the first person to tell him that tears will get him absolutely nowhere. It’s a childish and naïve emotional response. “It’s soldered on, Jack. I can’t!” 

Jack just shakes his head. “Mac, I watched you disarm a bomb with a finger splint and a butterfly bandage. Apparently you fixed a friggin’ lawn mower with a blender. I know you can get yourself out of here.”

With both hands, Mac grips the bits of his hair that hang out of his helmet, right above his forehead. “I’m not leaving you!” Each time a tear wells up in his eyes, Mac pulls his hair even harder. “Stop saying that I can get out of here, because I’m not going to! I’m not leaving without you!”

“Mac, kiddo-”

“I need your gun.” Mac suddenly releases his hair, grimacing when a few blond strands come with him. “Jack, I- I- your pistol! I need it. I need the magazine.”

Wordlessly, with one hand Jack hands over the gun strapped to his thigh. “Mac-”

Snatching the gun from his grip, Mac barely turns to announce, “I’m getting us out of here,” before heading back down the stairs.

Jack doesn’t bother praying to a God he knows doesn’t exist. He believes in his damned bomb nerd, not some deity.

Mac’s mind is running a hundred miles a minute, and at this moment, nothing else matters. It’s like what his dad always said: All he needs is his brain.

The soldering job is sloppy, obviously done quickly, or by an amateur. There are gaps between the two pieces of metal, barely large enough for his fingernail to fit through.

But that’s big enough.

Wedging his flat blade through one of the holes, Mac twists and turns until it’s big enough for his pinkie finger to fit through. Or, big enough for a bullet. He knows he won’t be able to get enough torque to pry open the two pieces of metal by himself, or even with a tool, but Mac doesn’t even need to think about vulcrums for this problem.

Instead, he needs to think about pressure.

And not the emotional pressure weighing down on his heart.

Physical pressure. If he creates enough pressure in the gap between the two pieces of metal, they’ll come apart at the seam. The cheap soldering won’t be enough to hold them if Mac’s able to generate enough energy.

Which is where Jack’s gun comes in. The gunpowder found in these bullets are highly flammable, but the casing prevents them from exploding on the impact of the firing pin. Ideal for every other situation with a gun, but not this one. However, if the metal casing disappeared, then the gunpowder would explode, creating a small burst of pressure.

Exactly what Mac needs.

The only problem is that if anything goes wrong, literally anything, it will trigger the explosives underneath Jack, killing them both, instantly. Then again, Mac thinks that might be a better way than by the hands of the terrorists. If he’s found alive, he knows he’d end up with a fate worse than death, no matter how dramatic that sounds.

Carefully prying open the casings on two of Jack’s bullets, Mac dumps out the gunpowder into his palm, before placing it around the weak soldering seam. There are so many ways this could go wrong.

On the plus side, if it does, he’ll only feel pain for a millisecond.

He hopes that’ll be the same for Jack.

Fishing the lighter out of his pocket, Mac thinks that after this, if they survive, he’s going to burn it into a fire. He doesn’t want to see this lighter anymore. He doesn’t want to see any of this anymore. He doesn’t want to see his red knife or his ACUs or his EOD kit or anything.

There’s no reason for Mac to hold his breath, but he still does.

Gunfire goes off the second the gunpowder does, and Mac’s pretty sure that he’s cut his life expectancy in half in that second alone. Heart hammering in his chest, up his throat, Mac allows himself a single deep breath after he realizes that he wasn’t horrifically blown to pieces.

The weaker sections of the soldering have broken, and even the parts that haven’t are weak from the heat. Moving quickly, Mac uses the magazine casing as a lever to pry the two pieces apart. Finally, Mac can see the bomb.

He can see what’s probably going to kill him. Kill Jack.

Voices grow from the outside, springing Mac into action even further. He knows that they’re running out of time. Jack’s right, once the hostiles see the American vehicle, they won’t leave until there are American bodies to go with it. And when they inevitably look in this building, the bomb will be the least of his worries.

Holding the flashlight in his mouth, Mac carefully moves wires a few centimeters to the side, trying to get the best look at what’s going on in this monstrosity. 

It’s one of the worst angle’s he’s ever had to work with. No matter where he moves his hands, they’re continuously creating shadows from the flashlight, blocking out areas that he needs to be able to see. Even when he changes the angle of his head, the flashlight still casts dark shadows from his fingers.

Voices get louder, foreign languages echoing around the now deserted area. Mutely, Mac wonders how many locals were killed because Jack wasn’t able to reach a nest and shoot them before they even stepped out of their trucks.

This is Mac’s fault, it’s all his fault.

Mac can’t afford to take a break to wipe his eyes, so instead he just forces himself to not cry, looking up at the ceiling when he has to. His jaw aches from holding the flashlight, and when his fingers aren’t actively moving wires, they’re shaking. 

There are two dark green wires left, both of them dirty from dried mud. Mac doesn’t know which one to cut.

The voices outside get louder, just like Mac’s heart. Ironically, his breathing seems to quiet to a standstill. He wonders how Jack’s doing, barely eight feet above him. It feels like miles away. Planets apart.

The voices are loud enough that boots now accompany them. Mac doesn’t have any more time to debate wires. He either cuts one now, or gets shot. But, if he cuts the wrong one, the bomb will have the honor of taking his life.

Mac knows that the odds aren’t good.

Grandpa Harry always said luck has nothing to do with it.

Jack told him to trust his gut.

Mac cuts the wire closer to him.

He doesn’t die.

And then the door is kicked open.

The flashlight drops from his mouth as Mac scurries as fast as he can, wondering if his heart is even beating anymore, because he’s pretty sure that he’s not breathing. Logically, he knows that he couldn’t possibly be in cardiac arrest, but all of the evidence says otherwise.

Mac guesses that the only reason he’s not dead already was the fact that the terrorists weren’t expecting to actually find someone in this building. Unfortunately, though unsurprisingly, bullets begin darting around him a fraction of a second later.

Scrambling up the stairs, Mac isn’t surprised to hear Jack’s shout of, “Mac!” Deciding that trying to stay on the down low isn’t exactly an option anymore.

“The bomb!” He shouts back up, hooking a hand on the railing of the stairs, vaulting himself to the side so no bullets find a home in his back. “It’s safe! I disarmed it!” Mac screams through the gunfire, pressing himself to the back wall as far as he can manage.

Jack immediately jumps into action, face contorting into something Mac’s never seen before. His overwatch doesn’t hesitate with the rifle, shooting back just as many bullets as the ones coming toward them.

Mac knows how incredibly loud rifles are, especially military grade ones, but hearing one go off merely feet away from him is something else entirely. Ordinarily, Jack would use his pistol at a range this close. However, it’s a little out of commission.

He feels a bit like a child, cowering in the back while Jack saves them both. Watching in grim fascination as Jack, who was as calm as ever when he was standing on top of an explosive, is already up and ready to shoot his way out.

Which he is doing.

It’s loud.

Very loud.

So loud that it’s silent, and Mac doesn’t even realize that it’s ended until Jack’s face contorts back into something familiar. He can’t quite place what it is, though.

Jack’s talking to him, but it’s through an ocean of foam, and Mac can’t understand a single syllable, let alone words or even a sentence. He blinks, as if that’ll help his ears, but all that seems to do is make it worse.

Before he realizes it, Mac is sliding down the wall, down to his heels, and then down to his butt. It’s so silent it’s loud.

“Mac! Mac, c’mon. Mac! Are you hit?”

Finally, the words seem to filter through, just as Jack’s strapped his rifle onto his back, hands reaching for Mac’s ACUs, checking for holes that shouldn’t be there.

“C’mon, kiddo, you gotta talk to me, or I’m gonna assume the worst, you know I will. My Delta brothers always told me I was the optimist, but God, I sure as hell don’t feel it right now. Mac, are you bleeding anywhere?”

Mac’s tongue feels like lead. Like the lead that’s now in the heads and chests of the men who just tried to kill them. His mouth is dry. “Jack?”

Jack takes a second to sigh in relief. “There he is. Listen to me, Mac. Are you hurt? Are you in pain anywhere? I don’t see any blood, but that doesn’t mean shit.”

“I picked the right wire.”

“Yeah, Hoss, you did. I’m real proud of you, ‘kay? But your job’s not over, you hear me? You gotta tell me if you’re hurt.”

As if looking down at his chest to confirm, Mac replies, “I’m not hurt. I think?”

“You’re doin’ a piss poor job convincing me of that. Are you sure?”

After a nod, Mac turns his head to the bodies covering the stairs, so many that Mac can’t even see the original steps. “Are they dead?”

There’s no point in lying, Jack figures. “Yeah. They’re dead. Not gonna hurt us.”

“We’re not dead.”

“No, we are not,” Jack confirms. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, you know that?”

“We’re not dead.”

“Shock’s one hell of a drug, ain’t it, kid?”

Mac nods again, before ripping off his helmet fast enough that Jack doesn’t have time to stop him. Swiss army knife still in hand, Mac runs his hands through his hair, once, twice, before latching on and holding tight. He doesn’t ever bother to try and hide the tears that run down his face. He doesn’t even know why they’re there.

Leaning the back of his head against the wall, Mac shudders. “Oh, God.”

“God had nothin’ to do with it,” Jack starts, before moving to the wall as well, leaning back next to Mac. “That was all you.”

“I didn’t-” Mac cuts himself off with another shake. “I didn’t think- I don’t- I don’t know.”

“Just take some breaths,” Jack instructs, exaggerating his own for Mac’s sake. “Take some breaths, you’re okay. Just breathe. We’re both okay, thanks to you.”

Suddenly spurred into action, Mac turns toward Jack, consequently hitting his elbow against the wall, before finally removing his hands from his hair. “You were going to die! You were- you were gonna die, Jack!”

“Still here.”

“But you were going to be dead!” Mac slams a weak fist into Jack’s shoulder, hoping that the action will somehow enable everything else to make sense.

“I’m still here, kid. You are too. We’re fine. Alive.”

Mac uncurls his fist just enough to grab onto the straps of Jack’s tac vest. “They were so close. We were both- Jack, we were both supposed to die.”

Moving to hold onto Mac’s wrist, Jack gives a forced smile. “When have you ever been one to follow the rules, huh Mac?”

“We were gonna die. And nobody would’ve known.”

Nodding, Jack clenches his jaw. There’s no words in the world that could soothe the kid. “That’s how it is, Mac. The second we head outta camp, it’s just us. Until we check in, or until we get back, nobody knows if anyone’s still alive.” Quietly, he adds, “It’s the worst sandbox ever.”

“Schrödinger was right,” Mac mumbles.

“What’re you on about? Shoe-what?”

“Schrödinger. Until the box is opened, the cat is both alive and not alive.”

Jack pauses for a moment. “And until we get back to camp, nobody knows if we’re alive or dead.”

“Schrödinger's Sandbox,” Mac snorts, quickly turning into full blown shock laughter. 

Still holding on tight to Mac’s wrist, Jack runs his free hand down his face. “Jesus, kid. You’re something else.”

“We’re not dead. We’re not dead.”

“Takes more than that to kill us, huh Hoss?”

*

Jack knows he’s an adrenaline junkie. He tries to deny it, and will fervently do so if anyone brings it up, but in his heart, Jack knows he’s a junkie. But that last bomb didn’t bring him the same adrenaline rush as they usually do. Not even close.

Maybe it’s because of how close he was to actually, full on dying, or because he was thinking that the last time he updated his will was over two years ago. Or maybe it was the fact that his damned tech wouldn’t save himself. It could be from the moment Jack heard gunfire downstairs, positive that the kid was dead, and that Jack would be joining him a few seconds later. Maybe he didn’t get a rush because even when he confirmed that the kid was alive, it still felt like he wasn’t.

And maybe it’s because, even hours after, Mac’s still not acting like his usual self.

He refused to put his helmet on when they had to go back to camp, and he barely sipped at his canteen. Trying to get him to nibble on a protein bar ended up going exactly as he thought it would: badly, and now Jack’s trying to track him down on a base that he knows by heart, but still can’t seem to find him.

Who knows, maybe Mac burrowed down, away from the world. It certainly wouldn’t surprise Jack.

But then he turns, and finds the kid by the mess hall, pieces of metal in his hands, furiously twisting his fingers around and around them. They never seem to stop moving. He jumps when Jack steps close to him. “Hey.”

In lieu of a greeting, Mac asks again, “Why did you reenlist, Jack? Tell me the truth. The actual truth. We almost just  _ died- _ I deserve the truth.”

“Fine, you want the truth?” After a nod, Jack tells him. “I don’t trust any other overwatch with you. There’s someone out there, some mystery person, receiving detailed reports on every single thing you do out here, and I don’t trust anyone else.”

Mac’s quiet for a few moments, before questioning, “So you’re willing to risk your life, for the length of my entire tour, just because you’re paranoid? That’s not worth it, Jack.”

“Listen, Mac, I’ve been around longer than you have. I know what’s worth it to me. I know what I’m doing. And it’s too late for me to change my mind.”

“You were going to die. Just a few hours ago. We shouldn’t have survived that.”

Jack just shrugs. “But we did. I could’ve died a month before my tour was up. I could’ve died years ago. I could die tomorrow. That’s how this goddamn box works, Mac. And if there’s anything that I learned from this shit show of a day, it’s that I put all of my eggs in the right basket.”

“Right basket for what?”

“For EOD Techs.”

Shaking his head, Mac lets his two hands fall to his sides, dividing up the pieces of metal between them. “Why do you trust me so much? Every other overwatch I’ve had were practically itching to get away from me.”

“You know what I told you about gut feelings, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“I just gotta gut feeling. I trust you, just like I trusted you today.” Before continuing, Jack makes eye contact with Mac, “But I’m still fuckin’ pissed at you.”

Scrunching his eyes, Mac questions, “For what?”

“You shoulda’ left when you had the chance! You’re a kid, you need to get back home safe. You can’t do that if you don’t listen to me when I tell you to go.”

Mac can feel his anger boiling up. “You can’t say shit like that!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because-” Mac interrupts himself with a frustrated huff. “Because it should be the opposite, Jack!”

Jack takes a step forward. He needs to punch  _ someone  _ from Mac’s childhood. He doesn’t even care who at this point. “Hell no! You’re a kid!”

“You have a family!” Mac counters, as if he doesn’t even understand how screwed up that statement is. And the fact that he’s using it as an argument. Oblivious, Mac continues, “When I thought we were going to die, the only people that would’ve missed me was my friend and his parents. The only people, Jack. But you have an actual family, waiting for you to go home! I don’t know why you reenlisted!”

“You’re goddamn selfish, you know that?”

Scoffing, Mac questions, “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You don’t get to decide who’s more valuable in this partnership, you hear me?”

“Oh, and you do?”

Before either one of them can continue, a low whistle disturbs both of them. “Trouble in paradise, boys?”

Mac’s reaction is instantaneous. His shoulders straighten, hand coming to fists by his sides, and Jack just hopes that the metal he was holding doesn’t cut up his palms. In the matter of a fraction of a second, Jack can tell that Mac’s anxiety has skyrocketed.

On the other hand, Jack has a nearly opposite reaction. He just sighs. “Hey, Sarah. How’s the investigating goin’?”

“You know that’s above your paygrade now, right, Jack?”

“Never stopped me before.”

“You’re not wrong,” Sarah snorts, before nodding to Mac. “MacGyver, right?”

After a curt nod, Mac confirms, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Please don’t call me ‘ma’am’.” Sarah faux groans. “Makes me feel old. And for your information, Jack, we’re heading back out tomorrow at 0500.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. It’s like we’re chasing a ghost or something. Hit a dead end.”

“Already?”

Sarah rolls her eyes, “Glad to see that your vocabulary hasn’t changed since the last time I saw you.”

“Technically speaking, the last time I saw you was yesterday.” Raising his eyebrows, Jack continues, “...And speaking of yesterday-”

“You owe me, Jack Dalton.”

“Wha- no! You owed me! Now we’re even.”

Sarah shakes her head. “Hell no. This favor is worth way more than what you had stored up. You do realize that, right?”

Interjecting, Mac asks, “What favor?”

In a low voice, Sarah answers, “Your reports.”

“You know about that?”

“Jack told me.”

“Jack!” Mac hisses, giving him a look.

With a shrug, Jack just counters, “Hey, you can trust her, I promise. Sarah’s one of the best out there. Best of the best.”

“Thanks Jack,” Sarah rolls her eyes, unaffected by the praise. “Anyway, before I left, I wanted to catch you two to tell you something.”

“About the reports?” Mac questions.

“About the reports. I wasn’t able to find an address-”

Jack interrupts her with a drawn out sigh. “Dammit-”

“Let me finish, Jack. I wasn’t able to find an address,  _ but, _ I did find a general location. They’re being sent back to the States.”

Pausing for a second, Jack questions, “Agencies?”

“I have a high enough clearance to know when a fake address is one of the ‘Five Eyes.’ Hell, I can even tell from a redacted address if it is.” Shaking her head, Sarah replies, “This one isn’t.”

“So who’s it being sent to?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t know, Jack.”

Mac’s fingers rise to meet each other, fidgeting once again. “That’s something though, right? At least we know it’s somewhere in the US.”

Jack just shakes his head. “Until we find who the hell this person is, it’s not good enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed my backwards from canon timeline thing, where Jack actually reenlisted before the pressure plate happened! I figured it'd add more Mac angst jajaja  
> Just out of curiosity, I'd love to hear your thoughts about who you think the reports are being sent to!  
> Also I think I'm going to go more in depth with my James MacGyver bashing soon... next fic might be a christmas one, so you already know there's going to be lots of childhood angst lol.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading! I'm still fairly new to this fandom and it your support genuinely means the world to me! 
> 
> I'd love to meet more of you guys, so come talk with me on [tumblr](https://appalachianapologies.tumblr.com/) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3


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